


How Ella and Tyson got a roommate from Tartarus

by Bacner



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, RIORDAN Rick - Works, Мастер и Маргарита - Михаил Булгаков | The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, Cats, Drama, Ella and Tyson make a nice couple, F/M, Gen, Harpy, Popular Culture References, Some Dark Humor, Some Humor, Some Romance, Spoilers, family life, post-Tyrant's Tomb, roommate from Tartarus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 13:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20866736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bacner/pseuds/Bacner
Summary: Post-Tyrant's Tomb. Tarquin is gone, only not, and Ella and Tyson have to live with him.





	How Ella and Tyson got a roommate from Tartarus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lila_luscious1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lila_luscious1/gifts).

> Disclaimer: all characters here belong to their respective owners.

“…You know, I can’t believe that it is over, and we won,” Ella the Harpy told Tyson the Cyclops, as the odd couple saw the last of their demigod friends leave. “Tarquin is dead, two of the emperors are dead, and we are not!”

“I know,” Tyson flashed a toothy grin, which… would be disturbing an ordinary human, or even a Greek/Roman demigod, but to a harpy… not so much. “It is amazing! We’re still standing!” He enveloped Ella in a hug, picked her off her feet, and began to swirl her around, still smiling. Then again, he had good reason to – the enemy forces were largely defeated, (now only Nero and the Python were left, and Tyson & Ella were cautiously optimistic that Apollo and Meg – probably with the help of Percy and Annabeth, because the latter were amazingly helpful like that – would defeat them). The unnaturally hot weather of the previous days too was broken with the defeat of the enemy armies – yes, Medea was certainly dead, (though it could be tricky to tell with a sorceress of her level, but still), but possibly the Imperial army had had a lesser magic-user in their ranks to meddle with the weather as their forces advanced upon the New Rome – why not? The emperors in question had been petty-spirited enough as villains to do this sort of thing, after all – but now they were gone, their forces were largely gone, the undead army of Tarquin was also gone, and so was the unnaturally hot weather. Hooray!

“Meow!” Aristophanes the cat called out from the back rooms of Tyson and Ella’s book store/tattoo parlor/home sweet home. As a Maine Coon, Aristophanes towered above an average cat about as much as Tyson towered above an average person, (that wasn’t a demigod, for exam-ple), and his meow was just as deep and powerful to match the rest of him. Ergo, when he called out, somebody just had to respond – or else. In this case, the somebody, or, well, somebodies were his owners, Tyson and Ella, and so they had to cut their celebration short and go and check up on the third member of their little family, (and to be frank, sometimes it was hard to figure out just who owned who in this relationship – cats can be tricky in this aspect).

As Ella and Tyson went into their room, (from where the meow have come), the smiles, sadly, fell off their faces, but then again, the sight of Aristophanes getting brushed (with his own brush, incidentally) by Tarquin, who was supposed to be dead now for real, was kind of disturbed, seeing how the undead king was fully restored to his undead glory – but Aristophanes didn’t mind. Then again, he was a cat, and it takes much more to rattle a cat, especially one that is an above average Maine Coon. 

Tyson opened his mouth. Tarquin rolled his eyes in his sockets – literally – and jabbed with one of his bony fingers at a corner off to the couple’s side. The couple looked there, and beheld another cat: this one was supernaturally large and completely black, save for a pair of glowing yellow-green eyes, of course.

“Hello, you party people,” the newcomer spoke in a surprisingly soft purring tone. “Long time no see, eh?”

“Your excellency! The prince of cats!” Tyson sputtered. “What brings you here-?”

The newcomer jabbed his tail at Tarquin, who had finished combing Aristophanes and was idly sitting on one of Tyson and Ella’s chairs now, instead. “I made a deal with him,” the undead king replied simply.

“Why?”

“…I’m an evil undead king, he is a demon prince, what’s confusing about it?”

“He belongs to a different pantheon-?”

“No, I don’t,” Behemoth the prince of cats said calmly. “I may be a demon prince, but I am also a cat – the prince of cats – and as such I can go whereto that I want, whenever I want – and the same goes for deals, too…” He eyed Tarquin sideways. “Got to admit, however, that for an evil undead king this one is surprisingly clear-headed and knows exactly what he’s getting into when we made the deal.”

“What was the deal-?” Tyson could not help but to ask. “Undeath-?”

“More like ensuring that I would come get after one deity or another smote me, as Diana did earlier this week,” Tarquin did not withhold the information. “I became an undead king quite a while before the deal was struck, actually.”

“You’re old,” Ella said suddenly. “Very old. Old and evil. You were always this way, weren’t you-?”

“Yes, yes I was,” Tarquin scratched his skull. “You have a point here, young harpy, or are you just pointing the obvious?”

“Yes,” Ella said curtly.

“Is she always like that?” Tarquin switched his attention to Tyson.

“Yes.”

“Must be fun,” Behemoth put his two cents into the conversation.

“Yes,” Tyson repeated, before catching himself.

“Good enough – as a cat I don’t really like monogamy, but hey, different strokes for different species and all that,” Behemoth replied, as he shifted his shape from a giant black cat into a human, who might’ve been dressed unfashionably, but nothing more, (save for the eyes, which were still more feline than human), and produced a written contract, several writing utensils and a pince-nez, which he put onto his nose. It made him look ridiculous, but no one was laughing. (Except for Aristophanes, but he was laughing on the inside, out of respect for his superior). “Right, where were we? Ah yes, your contract,” Behemoth continued meanwhile. “Now, there’s nothing wrong with a loan for you home – as monsters you can have one without any hassle that accompanies humans, demigods, and the like – but I must admit that we were surprised that you decided to live here rather than among your kind-“

“What kind of problems are we looking at, here?” Tyson asked flatly.

“Not problems, more like complications,” their interlocutor purred.

Everyone else just stared at him, silently suggested that though he was the most powerful being in this place, could he please cut the crap?

“Tough room,” Behemoth muttered, before becoming more business-like. “You’re not switching gears, are you?”

“No,” Tyson exchanged a look with Ella and said decisively. “We’re not budging.”

“Fair enough, though my Dark master,” and Behemoth grimaced slightly as the last word left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, “will not be pleased. Ah well, see you around!” and he was gone.

Tarquin was not.

“Oh, I’m staying at your place,” he told the young couple brightly, “until, of course, my own lair is completely repaired after the demigods and Apollo were through with it. I admit that I suspect that it will not be soon – the forces down under are not pleased with any of us for different reasons, but there you are. We made our beds, now we got to lay in them.” He got onto his feet. “If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be in your basement, pretending to be count Dracula or Koschei the Deathless. I haven’t made my mind as to whom exactly.” And he left in that direction in a completely mundane fashion.

Ella and Tyson looked at his retreat slash descent and hugged each other tightly. They got saddled with a roommate from Tartarus – literally. 

“Meow,” Aristophanes said curtly, but the young couple ignored him.

End

**Author's Note:**

> In Virgil's Aeneid, harpies live in the underworld; in Dante's Divine Comedy - ditto. Cyclopes possibly do too. Ella and Tyson probably live with the humans, demigods and co. because they are good guys instead.


End file.
